Freedom of Choice
by 4TheLulz
Summary: In his Seventh Year, Harry makes a choice that will change everything. Nothing will ever be the same. Do not read this. You have been warned.


Disclaimer: (INSERT A HUGE, SEMI-AMUSING, PAINFUL ATTEMPT AT WITTY DISCLAIMER HERE DESPITE THE FACT THAT NO ONE CARES ABOUT FANFICTION AND NO ONE IS GOING TO SUE YOU IF YOU HAVE A HUGE DISCLAIMER HERE. IN FACT, I OWN HARRY POTTER. I WROTE THE BOOKS. THEY BELONG TO ME.

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><p>Harry stumbled, disheveled and semi-conscious, into the Great Hall for breakfast after a night entirely devoid of sleep. His mind buzzed and pulsed like a thousand locusts as he made his way to the Gryffindor table, twenty minutes later than usual.<p>

"What it is, you rock and roll faggots?" Harry asked, wincing at the sound of his own voice as the rest of the table fell silent at his greeting. He thought maybe he tasted blood in the back of his throat.

"Um," Ron started, only to stop and stare down at his breakfast.

"Harry…do you feel okay?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, bro, I feel pretty fucking great today," Harry replied sarcastically, heaping sausage onto his plate and filling his goblet with maple syrup and bacon. The entire table was silent. Other students cleared their throats uncomfortably. Hermione looked towards the table full of teachers eating at the front of the hall, then back at Harry.

"It's just…well, Harry, it's just that you don't look so good," she said gently, voice soft with concern.

"I don't look so good? _I don't look so good? _Well, gosh Hermione, that's probably because I was up all night making meth in the bathroom. Maybe that has something to do with it, huh? The fact that I WAS UP ALL GODDAMN NIGHT MANUFACTURING A POTENT FUCKING PSYCHOSTIMULANT," Harry roared, mouth frothing and face shaking with rage as he surged to his feet and propelled himself across the table until his face was mere inches from Hermione's. Half of the assembled student body was staring at him like he was some sort of monster. Like maybe a Nazi or Pol Pot or something. He lowered his voice to a deadly whisper as Hermione trembled.

"Oh, and it just so happens that _I was also up all night smoking meth….nigguh_," Harry whispered as Hermione stared into his bloodshot eyes. At the slur, her own eyes widened in shock.

"Harry! What about Tyrone, the black kid that just transferred here from Compton?" Hermione said, tilting her head to where the transfer student, Tyrone Blackins, sat eating a few feet away. Harry swiveled his head slowly and stared at Tyrone. Tyrone looked right back, considering Harry, his expression guarded. Finally, a small smile of approval spread slowly across his face as he nodded twice before turning back to his Cocoa Puffs and his copy of that stupid wizarding newspaper, the Daily Prophet (or what the fuck ever). Harry looked back to Hermione.

"Me and Tyrone are cool, _white bitch_," Harry said, backing across the table top to his abandoned seat, knocking over bowls and platters of food and smearing his clothes with syrup, bits of bacon, eggs, and other such delicious breakfast food that those faggoty elves made for him. He sat slowly back on his bench and started shoveling handfuls of sausage in his mouth while the chatter slowly, albeit awkwardly, started back up at the Gryffindor table. Once he finished his sausage, he wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeves and let loose an enormous belch while sticking his syrup covered hands down his pants.

"That shit tasted so good, NIGGUHSSSS !" Harry shrieked at the absolute top of his lungs. Ron looked panicked.

"Harry! You better watch it! Professor Snape will assign you a detention and you know how mean he is with detentions!" Ron whispered, like some kind of crybaby pussy fart pants.

"You are such a fucking worthless pussy-bitch, Ron. Jesus Christ, I have no goddamn idea why I am friends with you. I have no idea why I haven't just blown my brains out yet," Harry responded, looking up at the head table where the teachers sat before looking back at Ron, "Besides, that's not Professor Snape anymore. That's Trent Reznor, lead singer of Nine Inch Nails."

"What? No, Harry, you're mistaken. It's just that Professor Snape _looks _like an older version of…" Hermione trailed off as she turned to look at their teachers at the front of the Great Hall.

Instead of Professor Snape, Trent Reznor knelt in his seat with one leg on the table as he lifted enormous free weights, his biceps tearing through his plain black t-shirt. The veins in his neck bulged as he screamed, long and loud, "IIIIIIIIIIIII'VE BECOME…..IMPOSSIBLE" before continuing to lift weights and hoarsely scream the rest of his lyrics out as that Scottish lady MaDongadall (Edit: apparently her name is McGonagall) looked at him, mortified and confused and, let's be honest here, more than a little bit sexually aroused.

"Well, okay…that is Trent Reznor. But where is Professor Snape?" Hermione questioned, turning back to her classmates, who shrugged their shoulders. Neville, however, swallowed his bite of blueberry pancakes, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and then cleared his throat to catch their attention.

"I believe that I can answer that, Hermione," he said, before signaling for them to wait just a moment. He leaned back to grab his school bag from under the bench and then hefted it over the table in a half-crouch and began shaking gently. Gelatinous, semi-congealed blood poured from his bag to land in a thick, viscous red puddle on the table in front of him. Everyone around him sat watching him, their faces ghostly white (except Tyrone Blackins's face). Three more vigorous shakes and the severed head of Severus Snape (see what I did there?) fell heavily onto the table.

Snape's decapitated head was so pale that it looked almost fake, the eyes rolled up inside their sockets like two blank stone marbles. His stringy black hair was obviously unkempt and his neck was severed crudely, the dark red tubes of his arteries and esophagus slowly weeping their last reserves of blood onto the table cloth. Neville grabbed the head by its hair and set it upright. Hermione had finally had enough and threw up all over the table in front of her, splashing Harry with half-digested, putrid chunks of her breakfast.

"Oh, dude. _Sick_," Harry said, licking the vomit from the front of his filthy, ruined shirt. Everyone turned to look at Neville, whom was proudly smiling and putting Hello Kitty barrettes into Snape's hair. When it became obvious that everyone was quiet and waiting for an explanation, he looked up at them innocently.

"What?"

"_What in the fuck is the matter with you?_" yelled Ginny.

"Whoa, hey…._language_, Ginny. I killed Professor Snape solely so that Trent Reznor could come and be our new Professor and so Nine Inch Nails can play the end-of-the-year ball instead of that shitty band that was in the fourth movie that was completely fucking stupid and gay. Singing about hippogriffs and shit? It's just like…an eagle-bird-horse thing. It's not even real and so retarded and they shouldn't sing about shit like that," Neville explained matter-of-factly. Everyone continued to stare at Neville as if he was somehow insane, with the exception of Harry, who clapped his puke-and-syrup covered hands together excitedly.

"Well! That's good enough for me! Snape was kind of a dick and have you ever heard _The Fragile_? Easily one of the best albums of the last couple decades. At the very least, it's something everyone should listen to once," Harry said. As the Gryffindors sat digesting the news that they had a new teacher, an old teacher was murdered, and their friend Neville was probably some vicious psychopathic murderer, Draco Malfoy sauntered up to their table.

"Hey, Potter," Draco greeted.

"Well, hey there, you Eminem-looking motherfucker! What's good, broheim?" Harry asked amiably.

"Not much, I just wanted to let you know that a bunch of overweight, incredibly lonely and unfulfilled fat women like to write a bunch of stories about us being in love and sucking each other's cocks," Draco explained. Harry made to interrupt, obviously confused by this new information, but Draco raised his hands to still him before continuing.

"I know, I know. I had the same question, too. How can ostensibly heterosexual women, regardless of how fat and unfuckable and unloveable they are, find any joy in writing about underage homosexual intercourse? I have no idea. But it's so gay, bro."

"So gay, broheim," Harry agreed, standing and leaning across the table to fist bump Malfoy and hand him a few handfuls of powdery methamphetamine, "Here, take this. It'll make you insane and unstoppable and even the cops won't fuck with you."

"Are you just keeping meth loose in your pockets? Not in any bags or anything? Rad. Anyway, I gotta take off, man. I've got some shit to accomplish or whatever. You know. Magic school and all that horsefuck," Draco said, waving goodbye to the rest of the table. Harry waved and waited until Malfoy was a few yards away and whistled to get his attention. Draco turned around.

"Hey, _motherfuckaaaa! I wanna watch you diiiiieeee!_" Harry shrieked, picking up a knife and hurling it at Malfoy as hard as he could. The blade sliced through the air and lodged itself deeply between Malfoy's ribs, just missing the heart. The knife burying itself in his chest had sounded like someone stabbing a pumpkin with a bayonet and then twisting it. Malfoy looked in shock down at his gushing chest wound, and then looked back up at Harry. A grin of satisfaction spread across his face.

"_Hell yeahhhh," _Draco whispered intensely and nodded his approval before turning around and walking out of the Great Hall to go buy some lottery tickets. A thick crimson trail of blood followed him out the door.

"At least he's easier to find now," Ron said before turning back to his breakfast. Hermione sat with her head in her hands, still sort of grossed out over all the blood and puke and Snape head all over the table, but she managed to nibble on a bit of toast. Ginny stood looking at Neville as if he was the opposite of humanity, but Neville continued to eat his pancakes until he noticed Ginny staring at him.

"Hey Ginny, check this shit out! This is _super_ _cool_!" Neville exclaimed, prying open the severed head's mouth and turning it towards him before leaping up onto the bench and unzipping his pants. He pulled his dick out and started sloppily shooting a hot stream of piss out all over the table before finally aiming it into the gaping maw of their former Potions teacher.

"Ohhh, it feels like I've been holding this in for a while. Ohh, man, my aim leaves a little bit to be desired, but isn't this neato? Take that, Snape! Yeah. Ha ha. YEAH! YEAH, FUCK YOU, MAN!" Neville yelled, his stream of urine splattering off the head and table and misting his classmates with microscopic particles of his bodily waste.

Hermione, who after school would eventually cut her hair so short that she would look like a goddamn boy especially considering she had no tits and would go to college and then drop out (wasting tens of thousands of dollars in the process) to hock old lady makeup, was sick again and once more sprayed Harry with her vomit.

"You know, maybe it's the insane quantities of meth talking, but I'm actually starting to like this," Harry commented dryly.

"OH NO! OH NOOOO!" Neville moaned, "I'm running out of piss! You guys, I am running out of piss! How can this be? My life, once more, will have no meaning!"

"Good!" Ginny yelled, clearly grossed out at the fact that Neville had sprayed the table with like six gallons of urine. She was pale and looked very ill at ease on account of the urine soaking her red hair. Because she was closest to Neville, she suffered the most splashback.

"Say, Neville. Why don't you just cast a spell to fix the problem, since that's literally our solution to everything?" advised one of the countless background students who usually never say shit.

"Word up, boyee!" Neville exclaimed happily, pointing his wand at his now empty dick. After saying the Latin words meaning "eternal piss", Neville's penis doubled in size and began blasting hot, dark yellow urine out like a garden hose.

"Oh…oh yeah, that did it. Yeah, that's much better," Neville commented as the pressure and size of the stream increased to where it was as if a fire truck full of hot urine was unloading on the table. Plates and utensils and half eaten food were washed away by the blistering, rancid sea of Neville's urine. Snape's head disappeared down the table. Ginny's face scrunched up in disgust.

"Neville, that is the most absolutely vile thing I've ever seen!" she remarked. Neville turned to look at her, his stream of piss momentarily ceasing as his expression hardened.

"What did you just say to me?"

"Neville, come off it! It was truly disgusting-" but before Ginny could finish, Neville interrupted her by leaning across the table and powerfully swinging his open hand into her cheek six times in rapid succession.

"THIS IS THE ONLY WAY I AM EVER HAPPY, JUST GO WITH IT! ARRRGHHH, I'M GONNA MELT YOUR FACE WITH PISS!" Neville bellowed before standing back and aiming his other magic wand – that is to say, his penis – at Ginny's shocked, stupid face. Like someone unkinking a very highly pressurized hose, Neville's urine erupted from him like an angry, roiling yellow geyser and slammed into Ginny, who tried valiantly to cast a spell before her wand was ripped from her hand by the thundering pee-pee tinkle. She choked and spluttered and tried to block the stream with her hands, but to no avail.

Suddenly, over the mighty roar of Neville's endless urination, came a sizzling sound combined with a high-pitched screaming as Ginny's flesh began to melt from her face and get blasted across the Great Hall. Her body slackened and toppled forward through the stream to rest heavily on the table. Neville brought his urine under control and stopped the blistering stream. Everyone pressed in closer to peer at Ginny's crumpled form, lying across her forgotten breakfast like a puppet with its strings cut. The flesh of her neck looked normal until just below her chin, where it ended in a very clean, almost surgical line. All of the skin, muscle, and hair had been dissolved, leaving behind her perfectly bleached skull.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Headmaster Dumbledore chose this moment to arrive late to breakfast. Unbeknownst to the school, he had been held up by taking a massive dump on all of Dobby's dumb possessions.

"Mr. Longbottom – I seriously cannot believe that's your name – Mr. Longbottom, I trust you are aware that Hogwarts School of Pisscraft and Niggardry has certain expectations of the students when it comes to conducting themselves during term?" Dumbledore questioned in a loud voice that silenced the Great Hall. Even Trent Reznor quit screaming to pay attention to the scene unfolding in front of him (he didn't quit lifting weights though. He's so jacked).

"Expectations? Are you aware of just how fucking dangerous this school is?" Harry interjected before Neville could truly respond. "Seriously, this place is a goddamn nightmare. Literally every single year I have been here, students have been in extreme danger. And not just me and Ballbag Ron and Hermione, because I can admit we're pretty reckless. No, _everyone_ has been in _near constant_ danger. Does the wizarding world have absolutely zero expectations when it comes to safetyat_ the only frigging wizarding school in the United Kingdom_? Am I really supposed to believe that everyone is just like 'Ehhhh, fuck it. Let the little shits fend for themselves', Professor Dumbledore?"

"Harry…please shut the fuck up, I am talking to Mr. BigRectum….Longbottom, I mean. Seriously can't believe that's your name, man. Neville, we need to talk about your murdering people. This is something I feel we should discuss," Dumbledore said, addressing the newly crowned King of Piss.

"You're not discussing shit with me, Old Man. I am getting **the fuck** out of here," Neville announced, pointing his dick at the ground and releasing an enormously powerful stream of piss which, after a few tense seconds, created enough lift to propel Neville straight up into the air and fling him backwards through one of the stained glass windows. As he shattered through the window, raining multicolor shards of glass into the faces of all of the other stupid kids at Danger School, Neville extended both middle fingers.

"Fuck all y'all niggggggerrrrrssssssssssss," his final words trailing off into silence as he rocketed into the distance, over the rolling green hills of Scotland, which is apparently where Hogwarts is. Dumbledore rushed to the gaping, jagged hole where his window used to be.

"Mr. Longbottom! _We have doors for a reason, you son of a bitch bastard!_" he screamed, red-faced, as his fists shook at his sides.

"Seriously," Harry continued, as if nothing had happened, "Have no parents ever complained about all the terror-inducing danger that occurs here? Even Columbine and Virginia Tech didn't have safety records this bad. I mean, Lord Voldemort pretty much wants to kill anyone that has anything to do with this place. You'd think they'd send their kids somewhere else like that snooty fucking French school with all the hot bitches or that Communist Academy full of Spetsnaz commandos. I mean, is it possible for me to drop out? This wizarding shit is getting really old. There's not a single computer in the entire school. I mean, we don't even have iPods, for fuck's sake. This shit is seriously weak, you guys."

"Why, Harold! Please be so good as to observe this," said Tyrone Blackins, holding up a newspaper. Yes, he talks like that. Not everyone black kid from Compton is a lunatic gangbanger…or at least not a poorly spoken one. Harry leaned towards Tyrone to get a look at the front page of the ridiculously goofy, confusingly-laid-out-for-no-conceivable-reason Daily Prophet front page, where a picture of some stupid snake-puking skull made out of clouds sat beneath a headline reading **DARK LORD ATTACKS ANOTHER WIZARD FAMILY TOO STUPID TO MOVE THE FUCK OUT OF ENGLAND**.

"That looks like some shit a seventh grader would draw on his notebook the day after listening to his first Green Day album when he decides 'Oh hey, I'm a rebellious punk rock kid now'," Harry commented, then added, "Yeah, it's super punk rock to be pushing forty and wearing eye liner, Green Day. You guys suck so bad now that it de-legitimizes everything else you've done."

"Harold, please. Focus, my dear friend. What the article in this serialized events repository is trying to state is that Voldemort, asinine name aside, is a viable threat to our lifestyle and, in acting out that threat, has once more attacked and eliminated a wizarding family in an attempt to reinforce the fact that he believes himself to be King Shit," Tyrone explained. Harry stared intently at the newspaper, eyes scanning the text before him.

"Yeah, okay, but that's _still _the gayest, most juvenile symbol ever. Why not just use frowny face or write 'girls are icky' in the sky?" Harry commented after a long pause, "Also why should I give a fuck?"

Across the Great Hall, Trent Reznor finished slamming a 48 ounce protein shake, picked up a bass guitar, and leapt twenty feet straight up into the air, arching down magnificently to slam into the Gryffindor table, shattering it to smithereens. He immediately began laying down a heavy bass riff.

"Let me break it down to you, Harry Potter: some crazy bitch had a prophesy and you have to either kill that guy or get killed by him. You guys can't both be alive. Someone's gotta die. How much can you bench?" Trent Reznor closed his eyes upon finishing speaking, totally wrapped up in his bitchin' bass playing.

"You know, that goofy-but-cute slut Luna told me that she wanted to drop out and smoke dope with me in a shitty apartment in London and fuck constantly. I have no idea why I said no. Oh wait, it was because I was drunk and thought she was asking me to help her kill her father. That is literally the only time drinking has ever adversely effected my life. I could seriously be in London, getting dumb and touching her ass. She had such a great ass. Remember her ass, Ron?" Harry sighed wistfully.

"Yeah. Great ass," Ron affirmed, nodding his head enthusiastically. Harry sat down heavily with his head in his hands, thinking. Trent Reznor eventually wandered away to ask McGonagall if she wanted to oil his chest while he worked on his traps. Of course she said yes. I realize this is all sounding kind of gay, but he's pretty ripped and NIN is pretty good, you guys. Harry lifted his head and took a deep breath before looking at his friends.

"Okay, so I know what has to happen, so there's no sense dicking around any longer. I say it's time I cowboy up and go kill that motherfucker," Harry announced. Hermione, as always, looked scandalized.

"Harry! Are you sure your magic is ready for that?" she asked.

"What is wrong with you? Seriously, I have a good vibe going and you just trash it. And who said fuck all about magic? There are other ways to solve problems, Hermione. Jesus Christ, all this pussy-ass wand waving has made you faggots completely weak. I'm not going to use magic. I'm going to get a gun and I'm going to shoot him in the head like….forty times," he responded, eyes hardened with resolve.

"What's a…a 'gun'?" Ron asked. Harry reached over and slapped him hard in the mouth.

"Stop being a retard, Short Bus," Harry chastised, using a nickname he liked that Ron simply could not understand. Short Bus lowered his eyes to the floor, dejected.

"Harry, what makes you so sure a Muggle gun can defeat the most powerful Dark Wizard to ever exist?" Hermione whined like a typical goddamn woman.

"Jesus, you are like a vacuum cleaner designed to suck up and destroy all fun and hope and light that exists in the world. I've got three reasons I know it's going to work. One, that xenophobic shit head hates all things Muggle. He has absolutely no fucking idea what a gun is or how it works. It's like showing a toaster to a bunch of Aborigines: they're just like 'what the fuck is that'. Two, relative to pretty much everything else, spells are pretty slow. You have to think of the spell, you have to wave the wand, you have to say the words. Meanwhile, you move your finger a fraction of an inch to pull a trigger and the bullet arrives on target before the sound of the gunshot is even registered by the victim. The bullet is in his head and he is dead before he even speaks a single syllable. Show me a spell that travels to a target at the speed of sound with a minute twitch of a finger, bitch. Three, shut the fuck up and roll with it because magic isn't even real," Harry ticked off his reasons on his fingers as the rest of the students in the hall stood in rapt attention.

"This…this makes a lot of goddamn sense," Dumbledore muttered, stroking his beard, "I'm going to get a shotgun…and probably a case of whiskey. I'm such a drunk, children. I hate you all. Goodbye."

After Dumbledore wandered out of the Great Hall, Harry turned to Hermione, who was just about to speak.

"Okay, now go ahead and shit on my parade, Hermione. It's what you're good at, you filthy harlot. Just park that floppy dumper right over my hopes and dreams, my very desire for a better life, and squeeze out the biggest turd you can muster."

"Harry, Muggle devices don't work at Hogwarts and in most of the wizarding world. What makes you think that a gun will even function?" Hermione, ever the Negative Nancy, questioned.

"It isn't like I'm attacking him with a cell phone or a laptop or a blender. A gun utilizes basic principles of physics and chemistry, nothing more. They seem like complex machines, but they're actually very painfully simple and function entirely on physics and chemistry. When I beat the shit out of you, you fall down. There's physics at Hogwarts for you. Hey, how about Potions class? Guess what, there's your chemistry. A gun is going to work, so try thinking with your brain instead of your tits for once, please," he responded patiently. Hermione frowned indignantly but thankfully, dear God thank you, she said nothing further to ruin anyone else's happiness.

"Okay," Ron began, "Obviously this Muggle contraption you speak of will work and anyone would be a fucking fanboy pussy retard to make up some shitty excuse to claim otherwise. But where are you going to get a gun?"

Harry thought for a few seconds. Where could he get a powerful firearm in order to kill Voldemort on such short notice? The obvious choice was to ask Tyrone Blackins, but honestly that was a little bit racist and Harry didn't want to be "that guy". He and Tyrone were cool. He looked around at his friends before noticing the shitfaced Irish kid who you can barely understand in the movies slumped over the table, visibly drunk.

"Hey, Seamus, you're Irish right?" Harry asked.

"Guinness, Top o' th' Morning, Dear St. Paddy, Dropkick Murphys, Jameson, Dublin, Shillelagh," Seamus responded without raising his head.

"Okay, that answers that. So, since you're Irish, you're obviously in the Irish Republican Army and hate the English, correct?" he continued.

"Fuck off, ye English unionist cunt," Seamus replied, raising his head feebly to glare bleary eyed at Harry.

"Again, another yes. Good, good…we're making progress. Now the only people on the planet who love car bombs and black market AK-47s more than the Muslims are the IRA, right? Because those Muslims are constantly stuffing cars filled with explosives and driving into crowded market places, right?" Harry prodded.

"Guinness, shepherd's pie, whiskey," Seamus agreed, nodding slightly. He just wanted to pound some more grain alcohol and pass out.

"Okay, so can you get me an AK? I'm going to rip this Voldemort bitch a new asshole…right in the middle of his face," Harry Potter pounded his fist dramatically onto the urine soaked, ruined table before him. Seamus mumbled something and dug through the rubble around him, pulling out the assault rifle Harry had asked for.

"Fuck off, English swine," Seamus said, lowering his head once more.

"You got it, buddy. Thanks. This is gonna be so rad," Harry said happily, chambering a round. He turned away from Seamus and was about to walk away when, from a table that hadn't been destroyed, Colin Creevey stood up with his camera.

"Harry, may I get a picture of you with your Muggle firearm?" Colin asked excitedly. Harry gingerly set his rifle onto the floor and walked briskly over to the table Colin was standing behind. He grabbed a sledgehammer that just happened to be lying right near the table, because that's exactly how safe Hogwarts is.

"Uh…no, Colin. No, you may not," Harry said calmly before hefting the sledgehammer, taking a step forward, and using his whole body to swing the sledgehammer at Colin's face. As the sledgehammer whistled through the air towards Colin, Harry's aim faltered and the hammer's strike face caught Colin in the lower jaw. With the disgusting sound of shattering bone and ripping meat, the hammer connected and Colin's teeth flew from his mouth in a spray of blood like broken piano keys before the skin and muscle was torn asunder and his jaw detached itself from his face in a thick spray of hot blood.

Colin immediately dropped the camera as his hands began to convulsively clench and unclench rapidly. His eyes rolled crazily in their sockets, whites more visible than his pupils, as blood began to run down his neck and spread across his shirt in a darkening stain. His tongue remained in his ruined face, attached only by a thin strip of sinew. Colin's entire body began to shudder violently as thick jets of soupy vomit emerged from the hole in his face behind his tongue. The force of the expelling vomit caused his tongue to flap rapidly back and forth and flick particles of vomit back up onto his face. He collapsed back onto his bench in a seated position.

Apparently, Colin was some sort of sex freak, because all of the puke and unimaginable pain started to arouse him and the crowd of spectators watched in mounting horror as an erection bulged in his pants until it grew impossibly huge and ripped violently through his his pants, slamming into the table and flipping it end over end up into the air and through the ceiling. Moments later, he collapsed, dead. At his time of death, his dick had grown to six feet long. Harry dropped the sledgehammer in shock before finally finding his voice.

"Sick party, brah," he said, in awe of Colin's display of raw masculinity. He moved over and picked up the AK-47 and walked back to Ron and Hermione and his other friends, who had all started to fart on Ginny's corpse.

"Hey," Harry castigated, "You faggots better quit farting on Ron's dead sister. We've got work to do."

"Harry…you just killed someone with a sledgehammer," Hermione shrieked. Quick as lightning, Harry shoved the rifle in her face. Hermione stiffened and screwed her eyes shut, but said nothing.

"That's what I thought, Debbie Downer," Harry said, withdrawing the assault rifle. The other students reluctantly stopped farting on Ron's dead ginger sister and started to follow Harry towards the exit when, with a sound of thunder and a spreading cloud of black smoke, Voldemort appeared in the Great Hall. Everyone fell silent.

"Looook at meeeee! Look at meeeeee! I look like a snaaaake! That's totally scaryyyyyy. You're all super scareddddd!" Voldemort shrieked in a high, fey ghost impersonation. No one blinked or said anything. No one was even remotely scared because he was so lame.

"OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO!" Voldemort added for good measure.

"This is the asshole I've been terrified of since I was like…twelve? Is this _legitimately _the fucking guy I'm supposed to be afraid of?" Harry asked in stunned disbelief.

"YeSsSsSsSsS!" Voldemort replied with his hands raised up above his head, trying to frighten Harry. "I totally killed your parents! I look like a snaaaaaaake! That's totally scaryyyyyy!"

"No. No it is not. It's lame," Harry countered.

"You guys!" Voldemort whined, "It's not lame! Okay, you guys? Okay? It's not lame! I worked super hard on this costume and I killed Harry's parents and everything and it's not lame! And my cool skull symbol puking a snake is not retarded, it's really good and super hardcore!"

"No, it's not" Harry said, shouldering the rifle and aiming it at Voldemort's head, stepping forward until they were no more than three feet apart. He clicked the safety off.

"What's that you're holding?" Voldemort's voice was tinged with curiosity, "Is that a cell phone?"

"Yep. It's for you," Harry answered.

"Good I was expecting a-" Voldemort was cut off as Harry depressed the trigger a fraction of an inch. The rifle went cyclic and pushed back into his shoulder as a deafening roar filled the Great Hall and Harry sent rounds through the barrel and into Voldemort's face.

Voldemort's body shook with the force of the multiple impacts that turned his face into a twisted, bloody, churned up mess before finally breaking it apart in a dark spray of blood, bone fragments and brain matter. Harry's rifle stopped firing, its magazine empty. Voldemort's now headless body dropped to the ground, a huge pool of blood forming around his corpse. Harry dropped the rifle and stalked quickly over to Hermione. He grabbed her by the hair with one hand and lowered his pants with the other, then he mashed her face right between his butt cheeks and let loose a long, loud fart right into her mouth. When he was finished, he released a gagging Hermione and pulled up his pants. Turning, he viciously slapped her across the face with an open hand.

"See? See how fucking easy that was?" Harry screamed, powerfully backhanding Hermione three more times. Hermione began to weep.

"I don't believe it!" Ron said from where he was crouched over Ginny's body taking a dump, "You've killed Voldemort! Harry Potter has saved us all!"

With that the entire Great Hall erupted in applause. Students leapt to their feet, throwing confetti and streamers into the air, cheering and clapping for him. Harry looked around at the people he had shared Hogwarts with during what he now realized were the shittiest years of his life. He spotted Tyrone Blackins in the crowd who just stared back at him, nodding his head in wise approval. Eventually, the commotion died down as someone called for Harry to give a speech.

"Now you assholes can take care of yourselves instead of depending on me for every little fucking thing," Harry said and turned and walked out of the Great Hall, out of Hogwarts forever.

He lived out the rest of his life in a shitty apartment in London, getting high and having awesome crazy sex with Luna the Space Cadet Weirdo (crazy girls fuck so good). He never did magic ever again and refused to return any of Ron or Hermione's calls.

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><p><strong>Don't review. I could not give less of a fuck if I were designed in a government lab to give the least amount of fuck humanly possible.<strong>


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